Things Missing and Found
by overtherisingstar
Summary: Thorin's things start to go missing, and then Bilbo, too. But it's okay, Gandalf can explain. AU after tBoFA. Contains future Bagginshield and is an answer to prompt #12 on Pirateking's prompt post at ao3.
1. A Burglar Burglaring

The first time one of Thorin's possessions went missing, he simply thought it had been mistaken for laundry and had been taken to be washed. It was an undershirt that he had used for a while, thrown across the back of a chair and forgotten about until he went to use it again and found it missing.

It was an understandable mistake, he'd thought, but it was not quite destined for the laundry bin yet. Still, he did not care enough to ask about it, and simply shrugged it off.

The next thing to go missing was a knitted quilt off of his bed. It had been Ori's gift for the coronation, and its purpose was mostly ornamental, but Thorin was still thrown enough by the quilt's absence to notice. Still, why would someone take the risk of breaking into the King's quarters to steal a _quilt_? And so, this instance was also shrugged off.

However, when his _traveling coat_ went missing (only discovered being so by chance, as he'd been rooting through his wardrobe to investigate whether he had any suitable clothing for the Feast to celebrate Midwinter that would be held in a month's time and he found the contents of his wardrobe to be decidedly smaller than they should be), that was when he truly started thinking that something fishy was going on.

And the undershirt that had been taken for premature laundering had still not been returned.

Those were not the only things missing, Thorin quickly discovered. Incensed, he'd investigated his wardrobe more thoroughly upon realizing that his coat was missing and discovered that also missing were two pairs of woolen socks, a thick, but plain, winter cloak and a rather fuzzy pair of brightly colored sleeping pants. The pants had been handmade by Fíli when he was still a dwarfling learning about different crafts, ugly but comfortable. Thorin had brought them along on the journey out of sentimentality, but he had long ago sworn that he would never let anyone actually see him wearing them. He didn't think his kingly dignity would ever truly recover from that. (He still suspected that the sight of him trying on the pants when he first received them was the reason why his nephews and sister had absolutely no respect for him nowadays.

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, but the point still stood.)

* * *

Thorin had avoided saying anything about missing clothes to the Company before, because of the simple fact that it sounded ridiculous even in his own head. After all, his clothes were going missing, but his jewelry, weapons and other valuable things were not? Pffft.

However, it was fast becoming too much for him to ignore. The tailors in the Mountain, few as they were this early on in the reinhabitation of Erebor, were strained enough as it was without Thorin's increasing (and galling) need for more clothes. Mostly, the dwarves in the Mountain were Dáin's dwarves from the Iron Hills, only staying the winter to help the recovery process and then heading back home once the caravans from the Blue Mountains started arriving. Supplies were scarce.

He could ignore his mysterious burglar no longer.

The first dwarf he told was Dwalin, being as he was the Captain of his Guard as well as his best friend. Dwalin, though he promised to look into it, could not quite hide his skepticism that the unlikely burglar had taken only clothes and quilts, and not more valuable things. Still, whoever it was and whatever reasons he'd had to take those things precisely, the thief had successfully breached security enough to break into the King's quarters, multiple times it seemed, without being caught. _That_, if nothing else, was a serious matter.

Next, he told Balin. Together they discussed possible reasons why the unknown burglar had not taken more valuable things, without really reaching any satisfying conclusion. The whole conversation only left Thorin feeling more puzzled than before, as well as frustrated, by the end.

Telling Fíli and Kíli did no real good, as they could only seem to crack jokes about Thorin's mysterious clothes-thief and wonder aloud about whether their uncle possibly had an admirer.

_Ridiculous_, Thorin scoffed to himself. There was no one about who knew him well enough to potentially admire him besides Dáin, who was happily married, and his own Company. He'd like to think that the members of his Company were brave enough to have _said_ something by now if they had romantic aspirations on him, and not resort to stealing his clothes (what good would that do anyway?). If he himself had occasionally entertained thoughts about a certain hobbit that were of that nature, well, that was his own business, thank you very much. Bilbo would leave for his own home come spring, anyway; it would not be right to try to keep him here.

Soon, the entire Company had been brought into the know, not that it did him any good. No one seemed to know anything of the issue, nor had they seen anything suspicious. Bilbo had seemed anxious about the fact that someone was breaking into Thorin's quarters, but Dwalin quickly reassured him that it would not happen again. Admittedly, Bilbo did not look very reassured, but Thorin was distracted by the news of a collapse in the unstable emerald mines before he could ask the hobbit about it and forgot about the issue entirely in the resulting frenzy to secure the mine and determine whether anyone had gotten trapped or killed in the collapse. (Fortunately, the very few dwarves who had been surprised by the collapse had only, at most, minor injuries.)

So came the day when Bilbo went missing, and things came rather to a head.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ he's missing?" Thorin growled at Bombur. The cook was wringing his hands, his round face plainly displaying his anxiety.

"He hasn't showed up to any meals today! It's not like our hobbit to miss one meal, let alone three, so I thought, something must be wrong! I tried checking his room, but he wasn't there, and-"

Thorin made a sharp cutting motion with his hand, and Bombur immediately stopped talking. "I will alert Dwalin. Thank you for telling me," he said shortly, heart in his throat. If anything had happened to Bilbo…!

The king started storming away, shouting over his shoulder, "Tell everyone you see to start looking, he must be somewhere!"

Faintly, he heard Bombur replying in the affirmative.

* * *

It was no use. The Mountain was in an upheaval, everyone searching for the brave Burglar who had made up one fourteenth of those who had heroically reclaimed Erebor, but to no avail. Ori insisted that Bilbo had been in the Library the day before, seeming healthy, if slightly sleepy. Bofur, who had been the last of the Company to see him, claimed that the hobbit had entered his room to go to sleep, and hadn't been seen since. The entire affair made Thorin want to tear his own hair out by the roots. Or maybe drown himself in the hot springs. But really, he just wanted to find Bilbo, alive and healthy.

Though if he did find Bilbo alive and healthy, and all of his frantic worry had been for nothing, Thorin might strangle him. And then he would have Gandalf resurrect him so he could kill him again.

It was in this state of mind that the dwarf king stormed to the Burglar's quarters, just to check himself that Bombur hadn't missed some crucial clue to Bilbo's whereabouts. Starting in the bathroom, he rifled through the hobbit's quarters for clues, but with no luck. Finally sighing in defeat, he sat down heavily on the bed and stared morosely at his boots.

What if Bilbo had gone back to the Shire without telling them? What if the hobbit had not forgiven him for the Arkenstone debacle, after all?

Staring at his boots, he suddenly realized that there was a piece of fabric sticking out from underneath the bed that looked strangely familiar. Frowning, Thorin got to his feet, only to fall to his knees to examine the fabric more closely. Tugging at it, he discovered that it was stuck on something.

"Is that… my quilt?" he murmured to himself, surprised to see it turning up here. _Well, well… I seem to have found my Burglar_, he thought, puzzled, but also rather unreasonably amused. He bent to check what it was stuck to, and pulled in a shocked breath.

For there, under the bed, nestled in Thorin's quilt, cloak and winter coat and clutching his missing undershirt, was Bilbo Baggins.

**A/N:****I envision this as having one or maybe two more chapters, not sure which yet. Hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Found

**A/N: ****Well, now Bilbo is found. Now what?**

For a moment, Thorin could not think. His mind was a jumble of relief, anger and bewilderment that he could not sort out. He could only stare dumbly at the unconscious face of one Bilbo Baggins, stealer of his clothes and the cause of all the unwanted excitement in the Mountain at the moment.

Then, anger winning over his other emotions, he reached out to yank Bilbo out from under that bed. "BILBO!" he roared, "Do you know how worried you've made everyone!?"

It was only after those words had been said that he noticed that Bilbo was entirely limp in his hands, not even flinching at Thorin's roar. An icy chill passed over the dwarf. "Bilbo?" he murmured, worried again. Gently now, he moved to cradle Bilbo in his lap, gathering the quilt and cloak as well. The halfling still didn't so much as twitch an eyelid.

Heart in his throat again, Thorin brought trembling fingers to feel for a pulse, only to jump and curse at how cold Bilbo was. The cursing grew worse when he realized that, though the halfling had a pulse, it was very faint, and beating so rarely that the dwarf almost missed feeling it.

"Damn it all, Bilbo, if you die, I will never forgive you," Thorin muttered frantically, gathering the hobbit up into his arms, and then taking off at a run, shouting for Óin.

* * *

"I don't understand," Óin muttered fretfully, "he seems perfectly healthy, apart from being too cold, the slow pulse and the unconsciousness…"

"You said you found him under the bed?" Fíli asked, peering worriedly at Bilbo over Óin's shoulder. At Thorin's nod, Kíli continued,

"But if he was under the bed the whole time, how could he have gotten so cold? The Mountain isn't _that_ cold inside!"

Thorin paused and frowned. Now _that_ was a good question, he had to reluctantly admit.

Suddenly, the door to the Healer's quarters burst open, admitting a very flustered looking Gandalf. "What is all this I hear about Bilbo being dead?!" he shouted. "I swear, Thorin, if you have let any harm come to him-"

There was an uproar coming from the Company clustered around Bilbo's bed.

"Watch who you are accusing things of, Wizard!"

"He wouldn't!"

"Dead?!"

"Hey, now that's not-"

"Shazara!" Thorin roared. He shoved Dwalin aside to face Gandalf. "I found him underneath his bed, too cold and barely breathing. If you can tell me what is wrong with him, do so!"

"Ah!" Gandalf came to an abrupt stop, still several steps away. "Oh dear."

Thorin peered suspiciously at him. The wizard seemed abruptly a great deal calmer, as well as amused and a bit… sheepish? Some of the tension inside his chest dissolved at seeing this, for surely Gandalf would not look so calm if the hobbit was truly in danger?

"Gandalf? What do you know?" he asked sharply.

"Well, now…" Gandalf cleared his throat. "Did I forget to mention the fact that hobbits hibernate?"

The whole room came to a standstill as everyone looked at each other incredulously.

"You're going to have to speak up, Gandalf, I can't hear you!" was Óin's comment, raising his hearing horn pointedly.

"Hobbits hibernate?" Kíli exclaimed loudly, thus making it unnecessary for Gandalf to repeat himself.

"Is that why he's so cold and still? Is that normal?" Fíli continued the question.

There were loud agreements to Fíli and Kíli's questions, while Thorin sank into a chair at Bilbo's bedside, trying to hide the fact that his knees were about to give way from relief. It was all fine, it was normal…

Gandalf stepped up to the hobbit's bedside to poke and prod at him gently, even as he hummed affirmatively at the boys' questions. He lifted Bilbo's wrist, counting under his breath, then put it down gently and stepped back again. "Well, it seems all quite normal to me. The situation is under control after all, good, good. Well, if you have no need of me, then-"

"Wait," Thorin managed to find his voice again. "Perhaps there is something you can clear up for us, Wizard." He got to his feet again, trying to even out the height difference between himself and Gandalf a bit. Mahal, but the wizard was unnecessarily tall. "Why did the Burglar steal my clothes?"

"Bilbo was the one who was stealing your clothes?" Balin looked surprised, Dwalin equally so.

"I knew he looked a bit shifty when we were talking about that!" Glóin exclaimed smugly, Nori and Óin nodding in agreement.

Gandalf stroked his beard, looking a bit amused beneath his moustache. "It is called nesting, Thorin. Hobbits surround themselves with the scent of their loved ones when they are about to go to sleep for the winter. It improves the quality of their rest and helps them save energy to survive the long sleep."

"Ha!" Kíli exclaimed. "I knew it!"

"No, you didn't," Ori grimaced at him. "You had no idea what I was talking about when I brought it up!"

"Brought what up? Knew what?" Dori asked curiously.

"Well, that there is affection between our Burglar and our King, of course," Óin said, bringing down his hearing horn to polish it.

"There is what?" Thorin didn't manage to raise his voice to anything higher than a murmur, stunned as he was. Well, well… This day was full of surprises, both pleasant and unpleasant ones.

"Indeed," Gandalf looked amused. "Well, Thorin, the way I see it, you have a choice. If you care about Bilbo's welfare at all – and I suggest that you do, for you may find the consequences quite unpleasant if you don't – " (Thorin bristled at the implication that he might willingly allow harm to come to his hobbit) "you may either allow him to keep your clothes and quilts to sleep amongst, or you can put him in your bed and allow him to sleep there. Your bed would be healthier for him, quite frankly, as your scent would be stronger there, but it is, of course, your choice."

A good bit of the Company wolf whistled at that, while Dori looked scandalized at the idea. Thorin glared at them all. Nevertheless…

"My bed is big enough," he said stiffly. "I am well willing to share it."

"Good. Good!" Gandalf clapped his hands together. "Well, if there is nothing else, I believe I will take my leave. Have a good day!" And he was out the door before anyone could say anything, leaving the Company standing in the Healer's quarters, wondering if that conversation really did just happen and cursing themselves when they realized that, in all the excitement over the revelation of Bilbo's feelings, they had forgotten to ask the wizard if he knew why Bilbo hadn't warned them about the upcoming hibernation.

Thorin, meanwhile, needed a moment to digest the news of Bilbo's affection. He had known that they got along, and the halfling really _had_ seemed to have forgiven him for the Arkenstone incident (Thorin had to hold back a wince at the memory of that), but…

"Well," Dwalin slapped his king on the back. "Are you going to carry him or shall I?"

**A/N: ****I honestly didn't mean for this to take so long, but RL happened and my muse deserted me for a bit. Ah, well. I did actual research on hibernation for this chapter! ****One more and then we're done!**


	3. The winter before the spring

**A/N: Oh look, a bit of angst slipped in. Oops. Warning for a nightmare with a bit gory details, here. Thanks to wanderingsmith for sanity!check!**

Thorin sat on his bed, staring at Bilbo without really seeing him, deep in thought. It had been a long day, what with discovering Bilbo missing, finding him and taking in everything Gandalf had told them, and he was more than ready for this day to end, but…

But Bilbo lying so still and cold put Thorin in mind of those dark hours after the Battle when they had been unable to find him, and he had feared the hobbit dead. Dead with Thorin's last words to him words of hatred and anger, spoken while his mind had still been clouded by that golden haze that left him unable to see clearly. Intellectually, he knew that Bilbo was fine, and that he would wake up come spring, but he still had a feeling that he would have nightmares tonight.

Hopefully Bilbo's scent would help him as his was supposed to help Bilbo, and be able to keep the nightmares at bay, combined with the newfound knowledge of his love (something that still left a warm glow in Thorin's chest, even hours after he had gotten over the shock of it and tussled Dwalin aside to carry the hobbit here, to his bed).

Huffing in impatience at his own sudden dark mood, he got up off the bed to get undressed. He didn't bother leaving the room to do so, seeing as there was no harm in undressing with Bilbo there. It was not like he was awake to see it, after all.

It made Thorin itch for spring to come, a fact which he regarded with wry amusement. Only this morning he had been dreading it, because spring was when Bilbo was due to leave. Now, though… Now spring meant that the hobbit would wake up, and if he truly loved Thorin as everyone seemed to think, surely it would not be too difficult to convince him to stay. Or to return, at least, if he had to go back to the Shire to get his things.

Giving Bilbo a longing look, he made sure to leave some space between them as he settled down. Óin had warned him to make sure that the hobbit did not get too warm, because apparently it was dangerous to induce waking before it was time, in these matters. Something about how too much warmth would make him wake up (which was the reason why his room was currently quite cold, and would only get colder the longer he went without a fire in the hearth), which could actually kill him, as it took too much energy to go back and forth between waking and sleeping.

Honestly, Thorin was a bit suspicious that Óin was exaggerating in the interest of keeping things strictly proper, but he would not risk the possibility of hurting Bilbo if he was wrong.

It would simply have been reassuring to be allowed to at least _hold_ him. Sighing, he closed his eyes, burrowed into the bedcovers and let Bilbo's presence next to him lull him to sleep.

* * *

"_He must be somewhere. Keep looking." Balin's voice echoed through the rocky hills, strewn with the bodies of the dead. Everywhere Thorin looked, he saw accusing eyes in dead, sunken faces. Everywhere he stepped, there was blood. _

"_THORIN!" Dwalin bellowed from a distance. "OVER HERE!" _

_Thorin turned, sprinting the distance between where he had been and the place Dwalin was pointing at. He crested a hill and… no. No. _

_Shaking his head in denial, he fell to his knees in the mud, the bloodied, lifeless face of Bilbo Baggins filling his line of sight. _

"_You did this to him," his grandfather's voice echoed in his ears. _

"_This is all your fault!" Bofur screamed, appearing from… somewhere, he didn't know. It didn't matter. _

"_Uncle," Kíli's anxious voice reached him. _

_Fíli stood next to him. "What have you done?" _

"_Uncle!" Kíli repeated. _

"_You can't even protect those you love," Balin said quietly. "Bilbo died thinking you still hated him. You can never change that, now." He shook his head, turning away. "You are not fit to be king."_

"Uncle_!"_

Thorin woke with a gasp, wrenching his eyes open to see Kíli's anxious face hovering in front of him. The door to his quarters was slightly open, and his nephew was seated on the edge of the bed, a hand on Thorin's shoulder. Bilbo was sleeping next to him, alive, thank Mahal, _alive_!

"Uncle, are you alright?" Kíli asked worriedly. "I came to fetch you for breakfast... You're a bit late, but I can tell them to send the breakfast here if you're not feeling well-?"

"I am fine," Thorin waved Kíli away as he sat up, still panting slightly from the dream. "I am alright. Tell them I will be with them in a moment."

Kíli watched him worriedly for a moment, then nodded. He sat back on the side of the bed, a wary smile spreading over his face as he said conversationally, "You know, Bofur is absolutely furious that he missed the conversation with Gandalf yesterday."

"What?" The abrupt change of topic threw Thorin a bit. He still felt a bit detached from the world, having just woken up, so it took him a moment to recognize it as Kíli's diversionary tactic. Still, he was grateful not to be asked about his dream, even _if_ there was something careful in the way Kíli was looking at him. Like he was an injured animal that might snap at him if he came too close or did any sudden movements.

The dwarf king frowned in disgust as he pulled a hand through his sweaty, tangled hair, pushing it back and out of his way. He would have to do something about that in order to look fit for company, but later. Kíli was still speaking.

"Yes, well, he wasn't there, remember? Bofur, Bombur and Bifur only arrived after you and Bilbo had already left. Apparently they'd been down looking in the mines, so it took a while for the messengers to reach them. They were so disappointed that they'd missed it."

Thorin sighed, shaking his head. Ah, well. His private life being a public spectacle was nothing new. Let them gossip.

"Off with you, Kíli." He shooed his nephew gently. "Let me get dressed. The others are going to start wondering what is keeping you."

"Right," Kíli nodded, getting up. He hesitated by the door. "Are you feeling any better, then?"

Thorin, who'd been in the process of throwing the bed covers off of himself and going to look for his day clothes, stopped to give Kíli a fond, exasperated stare."Yes. Stop fussing. Go."

Kíli nodded, slipping out the door with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, leaving his uncle to shake his head and mutter to himself about well-meaning nephews who could not stop fussing as he got dressed.

* * *

The first bad night notwithstanding, Thorin soon became used to having Bilbo there as he went to sleep every night. As Bilbo was not awake to spend time with him during the day anymore, the hobbit's presence at night became a reassuring constant in his life, his scent something he could breathe in and be reassured by every time he closed his eyes.

There were times when he woke up with his nose buried in Bilbo's curls, and he had to scramble away quickly for fear of warming him up too much and for too long. Then there were nights when he woke himself up by accidentally hitting or kicking Bilbo (by way of flailing limbs) and he wrestled with a guilty conscience and obsessively checked the halfling for bruises the entire day afterwards, wondering if putting Bilbo in his bed was actually that great of an idea.

Most of the time, though, all that truly changed because of his new bedmate was the temperature of his room (cold, but for Bilbo's sake, bearable) and the presence of Bilbo's scent (reassuring).

In the meantime, Erebor's recovery proceeded as fast as it could, considering the shortage of dwarves to accomplish all the work needed. Nevertheless, Thorin's temper grew shorter with each day, the cold of his bedroom and his eagerness for Bilbo to wake causing his patience to dwindle.

Thus, it was with a great deal of relief that he (as well as everyone who was forced to deal with his mood on a daily basis) greeted the first day of spring.

**A/N: Sooo, apparently I lied. This is not the last chapter. That's (hopefully) the next one.**


End file.
